


An Exercise in Trust

by Innin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, F/F, Femslash, Rule 63, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhris proposes an unusual way to help both her and Fingwen cope with thoughts of Angband, but not all ideas function as intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exercise in Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Originally begun for Porn Battle XV, but morphed into something different along the way. I can't believe "Bad BDSM Etiquette" is an actual tag. But out of "Safe, Sane and Consensual" this is decidedly not sane, and not particularly safe either. Don't try this at home, kids.
> 
> Many ideas in this are heavily influenced by Tyellas' _Blood to Iron_.

An Exercise in Trust

Maedhris fumbled with the knot of the blindfold a moment, before Fingwen felt cool breath on the back of her head: she must be using her teeth to pull it taut. It settled over her eyes and left only a halflight of the candlelit room filtering through the fabric. 

Heartbeat throbbed high in her throat. Fingwen swallowed, but the sensation persisted, lodged where it was and allowed her nothing more than shallow breaths, mingled anxiety and expectation, so far with a distinct dominance of the former. The occasion had resulted from another nightmare: Fingwen had screamed herself awake at morrowdim and startled Maedhris as well. Another testament, Maedhris had murmured darkly, that Fingwen allowed her feelings to get the better of her, that she was rash and over-fond, if she had nightmares on Maedhris' behalf, but without her leave. 

"When did I ever need your leave for anything?" Fingwen had asked, half-smiling against her better instinct, to drive the darkness from Maedhris' words, but it hung in the air between them immovably. She had never thought that any of her dreams reflected any sort of reality, beyond what she had seen of Maedhris during the rescue, and what little she had gleaned from healers, magnified by her own fears and feelings, but to find Maedhris believing that she had any sort of true insight... it baffled her.

"There are reasons I am keeping Angband to myself, and I would prefer to keep it so," Maedhris said. "Do not try to pry into my personal matters, whether they are a figment of your own mind, or something from my mind that made it into yours. If an occasion calls for me to share it, I will. But that falls to me to determine." 

"Please," Fingwen had said simply. "I know it troubles you more than it does me. I want to help."

Maedhris' sharp grey eyes bored into her own. "Under the condition that you let me direct such a thing the way I intend it. You will forfeit all rights at that time, all privileges, and I may do with you what I will." 

Fingwen's heartbeat had picked up then already, but she had silenced the apprehension that wanted out, and nodded. 

"You may object, if you are in distress or great discomfort – that I will grant you, although some discomfort is the purpose of the exercise I have in mind, and then... to avert it, perhaps, by... other means. I do not wish to do you any serious or lasting harm, you know that." Maedhris slid her arm under the bedcovers, perhaps too aware of the way Fingwen attempted not to look at it. 

" _Do you know that?_ " 

Fingwen nodded again, easier this time. "Of course I do." 

They had agreed for Fingwen to call at Maedhris' chambers at sundown, and the exercise had begun when she had entered the room. Shutters drawn, the dim light of a low, hot fire in the grate and candles flickering, the atmosphere was warm and familiar, but at odds with it, Maedhris' moved like a steel spring drawn to snapping, all her movements sparse and clipped. She did not rebuff Fingwen's attempts to kiss her in greeting, but neither did she return the brush of lips.

"Disrobe," Maedhris merely said, and stood back to give her space. Over the thudding of her heart, Fingwen shed the heavy, night-blue velvet that she had thought appropriate to pay her respects to the situation, her boots, and her underclothes. She did not ordinarily feel as though she needed to cover herself in Maedhris' presence, after all they were long-familiar with one another's bodies, nearly as much as they were with their own, but this night her demeanour gave Fingwen pause, made her draw up her arm over her breasts. 

"Do you still intend to do this?" Maedhris asked. Something about her tension relaxed and her eyes softened a little in the half-light. "If you do not wish to share in this, we will not do it." 

"It is an exercise in trust not the least, is it not? And I trust you. I do," Fingwen replied. Maedhris nodded. The steel-spring movements had returned. 

"But you – do _you_ wish to do this?" 

"Remember that when we do, you forfeit your powers while you are in this room, except the power to object if you wish to end it. Otherwise, you will neither move nor speak unless I order you. Should you disobey me, I will take the liberty to act on your disobedience as I see fit."

Fingwen denied a response about the headstrong nature of the House of Fëanor, but knowing that she was as determined to do this as Maedhris seemed to be, her words would ring hollow at best. 

Once the blindfold settled over her eyes, she found that her senses sharpened: The faint smell of smoke pricking her nose, the crackle of the fire that had heated the room to a temperature that allowed Fingwen to be naked easily and without discomfort even here on Himring. 

If anything, it was a little too warm. 

Maedhris was moving around the room behind her, and Fingwen tilted her head to listen. Even now there seemed to be a sense of unease and tension, booted footsteps sharp against the flagstones, Maedhris' breath a soft hiss that might as well be part of the fire-sounds, the scrape of a drawer opening and closing, the chime of metal, Maedhris returning to her.

A warm hand slid down the curve of her back and made Fingwen jump, but she muffled the sound of surprise. There was a sword-callous on Maedhris' hand, scratching gently. 

"Place your arms behind you," Maedhris said. "I will bind you now." She had no sooner stated it, and Fingwen no sooner acted, that cuffs were clapped around her wrists, broad and metallic, with a heavy chain pulled taut between them. Maedhris' fingers left Fingwen's wrists, and behind her sounded a deep breath. 

"Mait-" The word wanted out, was past her lips on impulse before Fingwen stopped herself, biting down on her tongue. Concern settled heavy and low in her stomach, because there was no new sound from Maedhris, no word, not a breath, no footsteps, only the presence of her body close by. "Please – answer me at least this, or I shall object to this whole endeavour, not because I do not trust you not to hurt me, but because I do not trust you to not push yourself past your limits. _Does this remind you of Angband?_ "

Maedhris hand slapped down hard on her ass; Fingwen yelped at the sting. Prickling pain raced beneath her skin, leaving heat in its wake. There were involuntary tears seeping into her blindfold, and she lowered her head, teeth digging into her lip sullenly. 

She could end it here. She had that power. 

"I had expected you understood that this was _meant_ to remind us – and to familiarize you with a little of what I endured, in a more pleasant way," Maedhris' voice said into her ear, low and contrite. Her hand smoothed over the tender patch of skin, lingering; warmth from her palm helped the pain abate into a pleasant thrum. Fingwen closed her eyes against the blindfold. She could recognize an apology even if it came unspoken, and nodded briefly. 

"Then would you continue even though I struck you?" 

"I would."

Another pause lingered between them, before Maedhris moved, withdrawing her hand and herself. There was a noise Fingwen was unsure how to place, the rustle of something thrown and falling, a hiss of frustration and the same sound again. Then Maedhris was back behind her.

"Then we will go further yet. I mean to – hoist you up. Not far, not so much that your arm and shoulder will take damage --" 

Of course. The sound must have been a rope being thrown over the beams below the ceiling, which Maedhris now affixed to the chain linking Fingwen's wrists, once again with help of Maedhris' mouth, because she pressed a kiss to Fingwen's open palms, brushed her hair against her back. It tickled; apprehension heightened the sensation and made Fingwen squirm. She forced down a laugh, a burbling sound in her throat, and could hear Maedhris' answering snort, itself close to laughter, but likewise not permitted to come out fully. 

Maedhris' laughter seldom was full-throated these days, Fingwen thought with a pang, suddenly – this would have been. Again Maedhris stepped away, and there was a small tug against her wrists, a little uneven and lopsided, a warning for her to brace herself, and Fingwen forced her muscles to relax – arms, shoulders, torso. _Breathe._

The tug began in earnest, up and up in little bursts. From the direction the pressure came, Fingwen assumed that Maedhris pulled, and then wound the length of rope around a bed-post to secure it before giving another tug. 

Her arms were no more than halfway up, and she found herself beginning to lean forward to escape the pressure beginning along her lower arms, pooling in her elbows and spreading into her shoulders, where her joints began to strain. The blood flowed out of her arms in a warm rush, and even though she spread her legs for purchase leaving herself exposed, planted her feet flat on the floor, bowed down her upper body, it did not ease up much. Fingwen breathed out through her nose; drawing air back in it came a little shallow, apprehension and the physical pull serving her ill. 

She stood on tip-toes now. The increase of pressure stopped. 

"You are not in any danger from me," said Maedhris' voice from across the room, indeed the direction of the bed. "This is... the least of what I endured. Tell me, is it too much for you?" 

Fingwen could not shake the idea that Maedhris meant to test her, measure her against herself, and took it as an incentive to speak. "No." Her voice rang odd and breathy in her own ears. Her fingers were growing cold, her arms beginning to tingle, and there was no saying what would happen next. "Not pleasant, but not too much. How long do you intend to hang me from your ceiling?" 

"Shhh." 

Maedhris was moving again, behind her, and then the hand was back, stroking over her lower back and to her thigh, a little rougher now than before, perhaps chafed by the rope. The thought sent an unexpected trickle of warmth through Fingwen, that her discomfort should be paid for alike – a little alike, at least. She shared things freely with Maedhris and enjoyed it – goblets of wine, morsels of food, kisses and touch, and now there was Maedhris' thumb – her thumb crooking inward and up, the nail a little long, scraping against her folds and parting them, index finger and middle following, heat following Maedhris' touch as she continued to stroke. Suspended between the two sensations, Fingwen whimpered. 

Maedhris paused, deliberated. Her fingers remained in place, a warm pressure, and Fingwen wanted nothing more than for her to begin stroking again, shifted to try and clamp her legs together, but that merely sent her staggering, a jolt through her entirely that made her gasp, the hand withdrawing completely and Maedhris' arm – the right – around her hips to steady her, the brush of her stump against Fingwen's stomach. 

"They never assaulted me in this way – but if I struggled against whatever else they did, in any way, they would cane the bottom of my feet until I lost my balance trying to avoid it," Maedhris murmured. "But I intend to do no such thing to you; I will let you down again." 

Fingwen's insides clenched, and not in a pleasant manner, and the pleasure that had begun to course through her and indeed obscure the discomfort, faded. Maedhris did as promised, loosing the rope, and while it was a welcome relief, the ache that had begun to radiate in hot pulses from her shoulder joints abated only a little when her heels touched against the floor again. Already Fingwen's arms were beginning to grow bonelessly numb, and the blood-flow restored when Maedhris continued to lower her arms until they lay at the small of her back again, turned into the feeling of a thousand, thousand prickling, stinging ants racing over her shoulders down into her fingertips. She straightened, and sucked in a breath, turning her head as though she'd be able to see Maedhris. It felt better to try and talk directly to her, rather than into the empty room, though the sensation made her irritable, and she had always failed at keeping her voice entirely level. 

"I wish you could have continued touching me just now... being at your mercy, that -" she said against the warning not to speak, wishing there were less of a strain in her voice, wishing she could stop flexing her fingers to try and will ordinary feeling back into them. "That was what you intended, was it not? It – was pleasant." 

Despite herself, she felt heat rising to her cheeks to admit such desire so brazenly, shaping blunt words around it rather than conveying it with her body's reactions as she would have, had Maedhris not stopped the attempt. From all her talk of Angband, Fingwen wondered if the sight had not been too close to comfort for her after all, all the restless, tense to and fro, even Maedhris striking her – it was not unusual for her to behave this erratically when she was distressed and no other outlet presented itself, but this evening had seemed worse than any other occasion after she had departed from Mithrim, to settle in eastern Beleriand.

There came no reply from Maedhris. If she understood the direction of Fingwen's thought, she said nothing of it, but the sound of her boots – her riding boots, Fingwen remembered, that hugged her calves up to her knee and that she wore on the training field with her leather armour more commonly than not – came closer again. 

"Knowing that you are so uncomfortable with all this will not help at all," Fingwen said with as much decision she could put into her voice. If Maedhris was not reacting to suggestions regarding her own well-being, then perhaps this would sway her. "If we cannot do this in a way that will allow both of us to enjoy this, and for you to be calm, then I would rather not continue."

Maedhris finally made a noncommittal noise low in her throat, just barely skirting the verge of a protest. 

"I am not asking you to pretend harder that you are fine with this." 

The reply came at last. Strained, spoken through her teeth, Maedhris answered, "If you let me this do as I see fit, I might be able to cope with seeing you like this." 

"'Might'? That is not good enough for me. You are as good at recognizing my needs as you are at shoving your own aside, and I will see you harmed by this no more than you will see me. Unbind me, this is done with." 

A hiss, but there was the knot of the blindfold unravelling. Fingwen closed her eyes against the sudden brightness, even though the room was as dim as before, and indeed it seemed that some of the candles had gone out. The bonds on her wrists snapped open and clanked to the floor.

So used to assuming the subservient position this evening, Fingwen lingered as she had before recognizing she could indeed turn, was indeed permitted to speak and look at Maedhris. Another apprehensive moment passed, and if pressed she could not even have said what she was afraid of – perhaps simply to see Maedhris devastated at the failure of her plan; she was a better strategist on the battlefield than in personal matters that touched her near, but took failures to the heart in either case. 

Fingwen grasped at a shred of resolve and turned, and finding she was right said nothing. She merely gathered Maedhris into her arms, dishevelled and sweat-soaked as she stood there, and did not move again for a long time.


End file.
